The 47th Hunger Games: Golden Wheat
by HoshiNyanGirl
Summary: The District 9 female tribute from the 47th Hunger Games wasn't special, like most tributes from that district. She did see a lot of what happened, and thought so much about how to survive. Although she may not have survived the games, these are her memories.


AN: Hullo! Hoshi here. I've been planning to write a Hunger Games fan fiction with an original character for years, and decided that now was a good time to start one. I've put much effort into both Grain, other characters, and the plot itself. The characters have been made with flaws and personality to keep them from becoming Mary Sues or Marty Sues. I hope you enjoy, and remember to read and review. Please refrain from flaming, it is not helpful or appreciated.

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District 9. We were one of the quietest districts. My parents and I worked as Farmers and Harvesters, a stark contrast to the factory workers that seemed to b multiplying everyday. Although poor, our district managed to get by, as we put the Pan in Panem. The wheat and barley plants we were known for, however, seemed to wilt in the anxiety filled air. It's been like this for a while. I quietly moved out of my creaky bed, careful not to wake the sleeping form of my baby brother. As I braided my dull blonde hair, I began to think about tomorrow. It was the Reaping. As I began to water our fields, I thought about how stupid this whole thing was. I knew better than to criticize what the capital said, lest a Peacekeeper heard us. The thought made me look around anxiously, before slamming the hose on the ground. I thought about how they chose my cousin to be their tribute, and how she didn't come back. While we weren't close, I knew that I was even less prepared than she was. I thought to much, that was my problem. "Grain, is everything alright" greeted my mother. She knew the answer. Although my name was entered only a few times, the slight possibility of being Reaped for the games was daunting. "Fine" I muttered, but she knew why I was nervous. Ruffling my hair, she told me to get some sleep. Tomorrow was the day to mark my fate.

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I stayed up all night. I was always worried about the Reaping. Who wouldn't be? The thought of having to attack others, and win those games seemed daunting. If it was all that I've seen on broadcasts, I knew for sure I'd lose. I imagined my face on display on the flickering broadcast screens. A cannon blast was heard in the background. Shaking that off, I continued to stare at the ceiling

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It was the day of the Reaping, and I nervously stood in the middle row of the children of Reaping age. I fiddled with the hem of my worn, red and white gingham dress. The crowd murdered loudly, but being a quiet person, I did hit join in. I looked to my mother, Barley, and my father, Rye. They looked just as nervous as I imagined I did. I looked up as the crowd became silent. A tall, curvy, Capitol women stepped onto the stage in front of us. Her skin was a shocking, starch white, and her midnight blue hair was styled into impossible waves. "Ladies and Gentlemen," her shrill voice rang out "Today is the day we choose 24 tributes from each district for the forty-seventh annual Hunger Games." The woman began speaking about the event's history, but I knew nobody was listening. I saw to busy thinking. I was safe, I easily 14. My name was in far fewer than many of the others. She than says something that woke use all up. It was time to choose the tributes. "I will first be choosing the female," she states, trying to make chivalry still seem alive. My palms began to sweat, as I looked up. The Capitol woman's dainty and gloves hand carefully pinched a piece of paper out of a glass bowl. She unfolded it before smiling a plastic, sunny grin. "Grain Garner!" The crowd in front of me parts, and I slowly walk onto the stage, trembling hands tight at my sides. The clown-like woman holds out her hand, and I loosely shake it. The rest was a blur, and a young, scrawny boy was chosen as our male tribute. I knew we wouldn't be winning these games. In my nervous haze, the capital women, whom I later learned was named Amphitrite, took the hands of me and the male tribute, and raised them in the air. The crowd clapped politely, relaxing from the fact their children weren't chosen. As I said goodbye to my family, and walked away with the capital people and Peacekeepers, I muttered under my breath, "now I just have to figure out how to postpone my dying." I may not win these games, but I'll try to survive as long as I can.

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AN: Thank you for reading! Remember to R and R!


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